Junkmail & Jackmania
by moonbeam-broker
Summary: A bit of a skeptic for idol worship, the last place you expected to find peace of mind was at the center of Hyperion. As an aspiring novelist, your thirst for something more seemed to push you in the direction of new opportunities, and not in any sense the safest kind. (AKA, that one fic where I insert the reader into the past lives of Rhys and his unfortunate associates.)
1. Patience is a virtue, but time is money

Aquator might as well have been what people considered the Hawaii of long-left-behind Earth. A pack of tiny islands surrounded by one gigantic ocean. Only difference was...these islands made up the only land on the planet's entire surface.

Your story began there. White sand, tropic heat, shady trees, and the glorification of celebrity drama. Unfortunately for you, the shining star at the center of your galaxy was not the Sun, and the dignity you sought seemed to be millions-potentially billions...trillions?-of miles away.

Your father had been a tour guide since before you were born, your mother a screenwriter who traveled from whichever Eden it was and happened to settle down on what you considered the most boring planet possible. Being who they were, your dad the smiling pushover whilst your mom the stoic authoritarian, it was a no-brainer as to whose ideals would rule.

So, what? Did she really expect you to just give up at her first word of rejection? You didn't want to spend the rest of your life writing the same crap that everyone else on that planet did-who kissed who, who was cheating, who had been framed-you felt like you deserved much more in the excitement factor.

You, an aspiring novelist aged 22, were expected to stay on this small tourist trap of a planet, completely abandoning your dreams of more interesting life experiences?

Nuh-uh. Not a chance. No more sweaty dudes asking you to take their picture, no more having to wrack your anti-social brain to provide directions to the nearest landmark.

Freedom was calling. But Hyperion called louder. It only took a single rectangle of adspace in the vast majority, enough for the semblance of an escapist idea, and you were gone.

Off and away you went towards the soonest spacecraft that would send you on a wayward trip to Hyperion HQ, the Helios moonbase. No more unwilling goals, no more domineering authority. Had you known the untruth to these parts, armed only in your best shirt and the most professional pants you could find...you probably wouldn't have felt so calm as you stepped onto the ship's platform.

It took about 6 seconds to remember yourself once your shoes had touched down onto metal grating, clinging to someone's arm in a moment of weakness. You had never in your life been so close to such advanced technology that you were paranoid it could fry your brain at any moment. The ticket attendant had looked you up and down as you scrambled to appear upright and okay, and despite the overwhelming price it would cost for a mere civilian to board such a luxurious vehicle, your years spent accruing personal savings had apparently paid off.

No more celebrity faces. No more lack of caring for your own wellbeing in the presence of others. You were going to look out for yourself, and avoid all instances of idol worship.

...and then you got there, and everyone wouldn't shut up about some guy named Handsome Jack.


	2. Idle hands are the Devil's tools

It didn't take long to settle in to your new life, despite that you had yet to snag a job. Hyperion was surprisingly accomodating with its housing facilities, allowing you to stay in what was about the same as an apartment complex with a startling view of space. You continually had to remind yourself not to crave fresh air.

There was a deadline of course, something like a work visa, and an immeasurably high rent to pay, but a seed of inspiration seemed to grow in your chest every time you gazed out onto the artificial city. A new culture where things moved at a quick pace; it was something you had never experienced. It was so refreshing.

See, that was the problem.

Hyperion employees, some dressed akin to bees, had the same kind of sting and seemed to perish just as easily. It was hard to find anyone who would even look you in the eye. Your status was hot garbage in comparison to the one you had jokingly started to call "Big Brother." No one seemed to stay around you for very long, and tenants seemed to up and disappear without prompt. You had zero friends, but you were content with that fact if it meant staying out of the firing line.

At one point you had become afraid to leave your room, stuck to what amenities you already had right in front of you: a desk, a lamp, a laptop computer, an issued bed, and a random fern someone had placed in the corner. It was admittedly a rather small room, though at least you could call it yours. Somewhat minimalistic and dark-toned, the walls had been painted a tasteful midnight blue with characteristic black hexagons.

Hours, maybe days scrolling through job listings to find the right fit-it was almost nauseating how many job openings had come about due to aforementioned "disappearances." You were lucky if you were to find something you actually were interested in doing. There were a lot to do with manual labor, but you were too picky to consider a job that wasn't in your field of knowledge, even if the pay was great. You needed to find something or else it was likely you would disappear too.

You eventually settled on something that should have been relatively easy to manage, an internship in the data-mining department. Your set of skills weren't particularly apt for data-mining, but machine learning-AI technology-really interested you, so hopefully it would be a good inspiration point for your writing. In the best case, things would go to plan. That was the only kind of scenario you could have hoped for, anyway.

Finding yourself on the day of the interview had been a serious challenge. Anxiety crept across your body every time you checked the clock-every now and again you felt like the hours had been tampered with, paranoid of sabotage by some unseen force. You scrambled to find your new selection of clothing, a small closet built into the back wall now full of yellows, teals, greys, and blacks. It was the grey top you chose, hinted with yellow, to pair with matching pants.

This is how you were to blend in, shedding your past to dress in new skin. No one would suspect that you had infiltrated their culture to appropriate it as your own. Maybe they would start to feel like you were one of them. If you succeeded.

Your ego settled nicely into your surroundings as you walked, feeling eyes on you with varying degrees of curiosity. Somehow you felt uncharacteristically calm.

Ah, that was why. You smiled silently in chameleon armor. Nothing could touch you. Your dark shoes clicked against the flooring amidst a bustling crowd; it seemed to be a fairly busy day as it were. You caught wind of a couple passing conversations, mostly gossip which you usually attempted to avoid like the plague.

"Please, tell me you dressed yourself this morning."

You could feel yourself cringe at the tones of voice some had taken on. So much pretense. No wonder their king wore a mask.

"Ha. Not since he moved in." A bubbling laugh, so saccharine it made your stomach churn and your face grow warm. What good was love in a place like this?

You sidestepped a stranger who threw you an anxious glance as he passed, nearly knocking into your shoulder. His honest eyes, which appeared deep enough to cut through your "disguise," made you expel a sigh to combat the rush of nervous chemistry.

Fuck, you thought. So much for chameleon. You were anything but invisible now.

"H- hey, I'm sorry." He muttered quickly, scrambling off before you could even blink in his direction. You weren't really sure what you had expected. Being the first to even look you in the eyes, he hadn't turned to stone, at least.

Cut to the data-mining department, where you managed to make it right on time only to be told to wait. Damn you for being annoyingly punctual.

The mouse-like receptionist behind the front desk unabashedly looked you up and down, clearly sizing you up given your awkward stance in the lobby. You could almost hear her thoughts, what with how hard she appeared to scrutinize you through rectangular lenses. Weaksauce. Your defenses had been cut down so easily earlier, of course anyone would be able to spot your impatience, your clammy hands, and your frozen, anxious expression.

"His office is at the end of the hall."

Had you continued being so caught up in yourself, you might not have realized that the receptionist had actually spoken this time. You gave a curt nod and headed in the direction she'd given, hoping it was correct. For all you knew, paranoia was about as accurate as your current gut feeling.

The name didn't really hit you until you were halfway down the hall.

Henderson. Saul Henderson. Of course it would be him, of all people.

If it weren't for his name being plastered on nearly every single newspaper in Aquator, you might have forgotten that people like him even existed.

There were two types of people who associated with him to begin with. The ones who were casually racist, and the ones who thought manhandling a kitten was a legitimate pastime. He was both of those things, but also a very, very persuasive person. It made sense that he'd found his place in Hyperion what with that kind of record under his belt.

You met the door with a calm demeanor, underlyingly peeved about your thought process but still relieved that you at least had an idea of what was about to go down. Stepping in with little hesitation, your eyes scanned the room until they found him seated at his desk, smiling somewhat devilishly. Had you not known his background, you probably would have found him rather handsome. Not around your age range, but...handsome, at the least.

A good mental slap got you back in the game.

"Mr. Henderson," You greeted, approaching cautiously as if you were nearing the edge of a cliff. "I appreciate that you've taken the time to interview me." You fixed a smile onto your face, adjusting the hem of your top as you primly seated yourself in the chair before him. His gaze was a bit unnerving, too friendly to really be considered kind.

"Interview?" He questioned, his face falling in what you guessed was confusion, only to contort with laughter. "Ah, for the receptionist position! I remember."

Receptionist...position. No wonder she'd looked at you all weird, you were apparently about to steal her job.

You swallowed. "Ah-well. I'm here for the internship."

He simply snickered at the look of surprise you tried to hide, apparently lighthearted about the whole thing. "Yes, I'm aware. You'll start at the front desk, it's good experience." He leaned forward and you felt yourself lean back to keep the balance of distance between you.

"She's from Promethea, of all places." He spoke, disdainfully hushed. "And it's about time we hired someone new anyway. I don't know if you've noticed, but things have been seriously dull around here."

Above all things you didn't want to agree with him, however he seemed to be right about how quiet the walk had been to his office. He sat back in his chair and grinned. "You're hired!"

You weren't sure how to respond for a good moment, then smiled back out of compliance. If this was the best you could get, you were probably better off just accepting it as it was or else risk being booted-maybe even manually ejected-out of Helios.

Your cheeks hurt. "W- when do I start?"


	3. More than meets the eye

You started the next day.

Right... Receptionist: your brand new, unceremonious title.

It wasn't at all what you had applied for, but it was something. That's what had started to become your mantra, trying to settle the struggling knot in your gut. You weren't the type to be taken off-guard, although the slightest hitch in your plans had left an undeniably sour taste in your mouth. No matter, you had decided to go with the flow since Hyperion had proven itself to be impossibly changeable.

You took the new, unknowable day one thought at a time. You dressed yourself promptly in Hyperion uniform and stepped out with a new attitude, maybe even a front of affability if it suited you. Every day seemed to provide more evidence of Helios being the worst possible environment for your best laid plans, but-oh no, you weren't complaining.

Not out loud, at least. That was a whole other ball of wax which you had finally begun to acknowledge. Your sanity was still riding on the fragile idea that you were totally fine and dandy in your self-preserved solitude. You suddenly realized yourself; a solo remora, tailing behind until you could find protection under a higher power, AKA, whichever shark would be able to tolerate your presence long enough for you to have some form of leverage. Blending in. That was your new goal, and probably your only goal by this point. You were too vulnerable by yourself. You needed someone on your side.

To get another thing straight, it was way too early. At this ungodly hour, Henderson had asked you to come into the office for a briefing before he'd let you loose to cover the front. The conversation had been so minimal it wasn't even worth remembering.

Henderson was one of your only bets at present, but not the best by far. He had already given himself up to being a tad narcissistic and a bit too racist for your liking. Not that any bit of racist was to your liking. He was too noticeable.

You were content spending the day with this mindset, surveying with a keen eye anyone who approached you from the entranceway.

That one's a loss, you'd think. He walks too confidently.

And she dresses too proper, too saintly.

He's too pretty, she's too old.

They're all assholes.

And this one-

You paused as you observed the man before you. Handsome, handsome, handsome.

...Awkward?

Nervous, you noted. He's shaking a bit.

His stance was gawky, as if he'd just learned to use his legs. Newborn deer kind of awkward, leaning his weight from one foot to the other in time with his heartbeat. Not the tallest, not too short. He'd entered quietly and with faulty presumption, almost as if he'd been wearing a disguise up until he came into the room. With a face like that, you expected absolute confidence. He seemed oddly familiar, yet the sensation you felt was hardly recognizable.

You harbored two emotions simultaneously: fear and intrigue. There was no direct name for it. Maybe it wasn't meant to exist.

He lightly gripped the desk and you observed his partly-gloved hands, callused from a past war, his expression morphing from shy to assured in a matter of seconds.

Who was he?

Who did he used to be? Who is he now?

Apparently, a walking one-man show. Your mind was already swimming with questions, yet he hadn't even opened his mouth.

Maybe it was the large gun strapped to his back that unsettled you, the pistol on his belt, the strange smolder in his eyes like a dying flame in an electric fireplace. Artificial. Lukewarm. He wasn't all there.

"Hey!" He chimed, and you could feel your eyebrows furrow at his odd tone. He seemed to glean the suspicion in your expression, shuffling his feet as he adopted a straightened stance. "I'm looking for 1 (one) Mr. Calligan?"

"Clearly, that's not me." You joked, sarcastic, and he seemed to stiffen momentarily before breathing out a laugh. A half-smile found its way onto your face when you saw his barrier break. He'd already started standing casually again. "Who's inquiring?" You questioned, turning slightly in your chair to reach for your holo-computer.

Thankfully, Calligan was right in the database. All you needed was a name.

"Ti- shit. Uh, Jack. Jack is inquiring. Duh."

"Uhuh." You weren't buying it, but only because you'd heard so many stories about people staging prank calls using fake names. Maybe this was one of those things.

How could you have known?

"Jack." You repeated the name aloud to yourself as you typed it and he seemed to go pale by a fraction, but not for any reason you were currently aware of. If anything, he might have been surprised by your oblivious nature.

"Hey, uh- listen, you're really- nice to look at." He blurted suddenly, the look on his face melding from confident to insecure to almost a puddle of embarrassment. "What I'm saying is- do you have a name? Wh... what's your name, I mean? Goddammit."

It wasn't nice to laugh... but you did anyway. That's what it was about him that got you, he was terrible at being himself. The irony.

He eyed you warily, "Hey- no, stop, that's not- I'm really trying my best here."

"Oh, I can tell." You smiled your first sincere smile on Helios, inwardly wondering where this side of you had even come from. You felt light in your chest, and if you were honest, your head was a little fuzzy. Not used to being hit on by someone actually interesting, I guess. "How about... you ask me tomorrow?"

Weren't you taking this a bit too far? If this was real, which would be near-impossible if it was, he would actually show up. He would take you out, you'd expand your isolated little world. It was worth a shot this time, right? You didn't know a thing about him, it was your first day on the job, there were red flags everywhere in sight, and yet you felt like you could ignore those. Like you could just trust him. This guy who'd suddenly appeared, as if the universe had played genie for you.

You really hoped you were right.

"Waaait... What?" He was taken aback. You could feel yourself grin.

"I said... come back tomorrow. I'm free at noon."

The look of awe that graced him seemed so genuine. He was almost beautiful were it not for his mannerisms completely betraying his face. "Whoa. Oh. Okay. Yes. Absolutely."

"It's a date, Tack." You poked at his resolve with so sharp a point, he'd flinched.

"Tack? Come on, okay- actually, it's, uh..." He lowered his voice to a whisper, leaning towards you. Big Brother was watching, after all. "...Jimothy. You got me?"

Your computer pinged.

"Oh, I gotcha. Tack. Calligan's the third door on the right. Try not to die, okay?"

Maybe it was the intensity of the conversation, or something you'd said, but his amused expression glitched into worry almost immediately after you'd spoken. "Right." He nodded his head, mismatched eyes averted from you and onward down the hallway beyond your head. "I'll try."

So serious. His grim switch in tone seemed to eat at you for the rest of the day, way past when he'd disappeared down the hallway. You could barely sleep that night.

It only got worse when he showed up thereafter, practically dragging himself through the door the next day. It wasn't even anywhere close to noon. Your skin was practically crawling with the look of anxiety on his face. He didn't want to be here.

This was wrong. This was a very bad choice.

"I need you to come with me...uh, right now. Captain's orders." The tone of urgency in his voice told you it was your second day and you'd already done it.

You'd already messed up. "...Please."


	4. Deal with a devil

'Captain's orders.' That didn't sound good in any state of mind. In your current one, you were running through the ways in which you would meet your end. So far, there seemed to be only two logical outcomes of those presented: being vented into space, and the obvious, bullet-involved way to perish.

You'd heard little of Hyperion's cruelty aside from its widely publicized conquests and victories, and seeing as your home planet was quite possibly the most propaganda-ridden of them all, it made sense that you were lacking in terms of imagination when it came to creative deaths. You knew nothing of Handsome Jack and his ultraviolence. You were the expert on emotional warfare, not physical. Words were your weapons. You had only expected the same of employment at Hyperion, given that you were to be nowhere near the battlefield.

Or so you had hoped.

Helios had seemed fairly innocent to you with its fresh stimuli and psychological intrigue, given that you'd been there long enough to make that kind of call. Things seemed routine enough to still feel familiar; a safe amount of security, no civilians wielding guns-well, that didn't seem to be true anymore. Unless "Jimothy" wasn't a civilian?

Were you really that stupid? How could you have overlooked something like that-you worked for a gun corporation for crissake. Everyone probably owned a gun if they worked for one of those, right? Wrong. Your previous theory had been plausible up until he'd shown up. Timothy. Tim.

Why couldn't he give his own name? Tagging along with him didn't seem as friendly anymore, not if it meant your inevitable doom, and especially while you still had so many questions.

You thought about running, but remembered the guards, and the guns strapped to Tim's back and hip which you'd obviously been worried about. Would he shoot? The guards would shoot, obviously, but... would he?

You could feel yourself retracting from reality with each step closer to that elevator. Tim's demeanor was bordering on volatile. He seemed so nervous at this point that he might have snapped at any moment. And yet, he still offered no direct information. He didn't say anything at all.

The time in between was eating away at you. You could feel it, corroding, turning your insides to mush and your feet to concrete. By the time you stepped into the office, you were gone. Something else had taken over.

You just wanted your life. You would beg, if you had to.

Timothy breathed through his nose when he realized you'd stopped moving and timidly turned to look you in the face. Wide-eyed, you could hardly believe the world you'd walked into. Had you crossed into another dimension at some point?

The office-it was oddly beautiful. Ethereal, even. Shrouded in blues, with a shadow in every corner. A scarred moon at the head-Elpis-casting pained, orange beams across the center path. Two tall busts, mirrored, high upon twin ponds.

You may have begun to fear his wrath, but Handsome Jack did seem to have good taste in interior design. You had to at least give him that. When you saw him, himself, though?

Nearly turned to ash at the mere sight of him. His eyes burned like lasers, right through you, even from the reclined position he had at his desk.

"I know what you're thinking. Nice digs, huh? Nice fuckin' digs."

A smooth tone of voice, oozing with charisma as it echoed through the room. It was the same voice that Tim had, only without any inkling of fear or anxiety and instead made thick with confidence. You really, really hoped he hadn't seen you shiver.

Your feet moved again, trailing behind Timothy as he led you forward and up the stairs to the elevated desk.

"So, uh... this is the one." Tim gestured to you in a cursory fashion, seeming pretty eager to leave. "Is that all you needed me to do, or...?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'll pay you later. Now, for you-I've got something else in mind." An excited laugh rumbled in Jack's throat, and you felt yourself revert to putty as soon as you glimpsed his face. He didn't really... have a face, exactly. Instead, a fleshy mask of a face had been grafted over his original one, for some reason unknown to you. You'd seen enough renditions of The Phantom of the Opera to see where that one was going.

Timothy really did hightail his way out of there as soon as he was given the go-ahead, but still slowly enough for you to recognize the resemblance. Tack. You'd have to keep his betrayal in mind for when you saw him next, but the pressing matter at hand clearly took the cake in terms of your current priorities.

"So, quick question." You spoke directly, feeling your heart drop into your stomach as you did so. "Am I about to die right now, or-"

"Die? Who said anything about dying?" Harsh-toned, his voice had come to be aggressive as though you'd managed to pinpoint a weak spot in his armor. Why, why did you have to be so good at that right now.

Wait... so you weren't about to die? All of that dark contemplation for nothing? You were almost disappointed. Almost.

"Killing you isn't in the plans, sweetheart. At least, y'know... not yet." His smile felt sour. "I get the feeling you don't really know who I am, and that's a problem. One of my problems-but, we'll get to that." He talked a lot for a man with a fake face. Like a politician.

"The name's Jack. Handsome Jack. I run the show around here." He seemed to pause before adding, "Don't- do not call me Jack, unless that's your way of begging for it to be carved into your corpse."

"Uh... noted." You coughed hoarsely, incredulous to the situation you had found yourself in. Were you about to die, or weren't you? You wished he'd just pick one already.

"Also, that guy. Y'know, the other me who brought you here? He's 'Jack.' Body double. Not as handsome, but handsome... enough. I had him go through some sick-ass surgery way back when. Sweet, right?" Okay, really weird, why was he telling you this? Probably to suit his own ego.

"But what about your mask?"

"My ma-oh, that's really not funny, pal."

Despite the look on his... face that spoke volumes of how much he was regretting having this conversation, he seemed to skirt around the issue instead of going full grenade.

"Let me just skip past all of the crap-talk and get to the point." This already felt fishy enough. You didn't have to go pissing him off like that. "I read your resumé after watching you through the cameras-convenient little suckers-which is something you should be really happy about, buddy, because it turns out you fit the bill for my little pet project!"

What, like some unpaid experiment kind of 'pet project?' How stupid did he think you were? Handsome or not, he wasn't about to steal away the one opportunity you had for good pay. I mean, you had to keep up with the rent somehow. "News flash, 'buddy,' I'm already employed. Henderson in data-mining hired me, remember?"

"Well I'm the boss of your boss, 'remember?'" Ouch.

"Oh-right. That Handsome Jack. Got it." Okay. Pretty stupid. Who the hell else did you think he was? Talking to him like that was a surefire way to get yourself killed.

Maybe the whole body double thing had screwed with your head. Maybe you weren't as good with words as you thought you were.

"You are really testing my patience right now." Jack, clearly beyond agitated, gritted his teeth together as he stood and leaned over his desk. "I was trying to be nice and give you the opportunity for a choice, but now I think that's past. I mean, if you said no I probably would've just killed you, but at least you would've felt like you had a choice, eh? You don't get a say in it now."

You stood still, mouth tightly shut. He seemed to respect that.

"Quiet. Quiet is good. Quiet is compliance. You're going to listen to me, and you're not going to say. A. Word. Got me? ...Don't answer that."

Silence.

"I have a bunch of idiots on my back 24/7, clogging up my emails! I need you to be less of an idiot, and let them down politely-but in a way that still makes me look cool." Um... What?

"Um... What?" ...Exactly!

"Hello?" Jack snapped his fingers in front of your face as if it would snap you out of your stupor. Tough luck, you were too far in denial. "Handsome Jack to braindead? I need you to clear out my junkmail."

"You want me... to answer your fanmail?" That's it?

"Junkmail. And it's not an 'I want you to,' it's a 'you're going to because I'm slowly dying of other people's stupidity.' I mean, you would not believe the level of creep in my inbox."

You blinked for about a minute and it still didn't clear up the amount of bullshit you were witnessing. "Uh. Right-I mean, yeah. I have to do it, I get that, but-why me?"

"You're the only one on Helios with a credible background in writing. I have standards here." Standards. Okay. "Don't worry about any of that stuff, I'm gonna pay you way more than the other guy, so it doesn't even matter. Oh, and-I even have a new room for you with the internet already hooked up and everything. Anythin' ya need."

"Uh..."

"Ha, I know, right? I knew you couldn't say no."

Well, you couldn't really say anything to that kind of offer. It was a better deal than the one you'd started with, and honestly that's all that mattered to you. Maybe this was your break. Handsome Jack himself offered the protection you needed. It aligned with your priorities, it paid more, it was a way more interesting job, it would provide you with the right amount of inspiration for your personal writings.

Yes. You would be untouchable, if he really needed you that much. The only problem would be your usefulness if the time came that no one wanted to write him fanmail anymore, but that probably wouldn't happen. Uh, hopefully?

You shuffled your feet, ears tuned to the sound of your shoes against Jack's marble flooring as you thought up an adequate response. "So, put your money where your mouth is."

"Oh, now, you're speakin' my language, sweetheart. I think this is the start of a beautiful new relationship. That's... professional. Relationship."

Eager to begin.


	5. What goes around comes back to haunt you

You felt heaven's embrace in the confines of your bed, sandwiched between two layers of blankets and a multitude of memory foam pillows; all smelling subtly of vanilla. You'd made it a point to freshen up before bed, applying a healthy amount of lotion to aid yourself in a good night's sleep. Tonight was the first night in your new room, and although that held unfamiliar territory, it clearly hadn't taken long for you to settle in. Your belongings still remained in a box, keys set upon a table by the door.

You called back to the rush you felt when you'd first walked in.

Straight across from the entrance was a large, arched glass doorway with access to a balcony. You'd timidly stepped out, 5 stories tall, eyes peering beyond the rail to find those Hyperion worker bees buzzing about down beneath your feet. The Hub of Heroism with its perpetual lights. Helios never slept.

With this kind of luxury, you didn't even mind the camera framing your desk in the corner, aiming to box you in and observe your every action. Your new living space had also become your new working space, and this made it more apparent. You'd closed the curtains to supplement the lack of privacy with the click of a remote, and clapped the lamp off once you'd climbed under the covers.

It was silent in the dark. No noisy neighbors through thin walls.

You'd half-expected Jack to be on the other side of your tired head, antagonizing your sleep from his own room, but were satisfied to know his quarters were still a ways down the hall. There was nothing to disturb you, aside from all the noise in your own head, and the regulated air conditioning that had you retracting further beneath the sheets.

It was cozy, but still lonely. You'd been trying hard to deny this fact ever since it had crossed your mind.

You thought about Timothy, about Jack-Handsome Jack. You thought about the people you'd made vague acquaintance with, and the people who had simply offered a glare as their hello. Henderson, and the girl at the front desk who he'd soon fired.

Your thoughts turned to that stranger, the one with the honest eyes, the one who'd apologized as soon as he'd collided with you in your haste. Maybe you could've asked his name, gotten to know him in your chance meeting. Maybe you were never to see him again. It was a shame; he had a charming face, and an obvious politeness that most on Helios lacked.

A handsome stranger with a honeyed voice whom you'd met by way of a divine mistake.

Your face buried into the pillow below your head as you had given way to fantastical, unrealistic scenarios. It was silly, sure-to be lulling yourself to sleep with thoughts of a man you hadn't properly met. The mystery is what kept things safe for you. Had you known him, things would be. . .

About as awkward as the next morning.

...Divinely awkward, that is.

Your shoes pressed to the bar below the high-top chair on which you'd seated yourself, carameled coffee in-hand. Your sleepless eyes stared past the glass, at various passersby who didn't spare the time to return your hazy gaze. You could see your haggard reflection in the window pane across from you, as well as the name: Le Café D'erreurs. An odd name for a café that served some of the best coffee you'd tasted. Literally "The Café of Mistakes," or "The Mistake Café." Whichever would be easier on your memory. You guessed the owner had decided it sounded fancy enough that people wouldn't notice.

Honestly, you weren't the type to venture past the temptation of instant coffee. You preferred ease over luxury. In this case...your stash of coffee had mysteriously vanished, probably left behind in your rush to escape the onsetting claustrophobia from your previous room. As nice as Jack had made your new room sound, he hadn't thrown in any extra coffee, so your last resort had been to try something new. As much as you begrudged it.

You eavesdropped on various conversations, most leaning toward talk of Handsome Jack and his wily wit, his unwitting charms, his glorified bloodlust. You'd scoffed to yourself, returning your attention to your coffee and sighing in defeat when you realized the cup had already been emptied two or three sips ago. The gossip was getting to you, if it wasn't your lack of sleep.

An obstructing left hand pressed down onto the surface next to you, and the presence of a new body in your periphery had effectively scared you out of your thoughts.

"Uh... your cup looked a little empty there, so- I thought you might need a fresh one?" He didn't seem sure of his own words, his voice lilting higher as his statement had unintentionally formed into an odd question.

You swallowed as your eyes skimmed the table, smooth and constructed using false-wood, to the dimpled hand that had placed down a cup nearly identical to yours. Nearly identical, save for the name written on its insulated side: Reeze. You hadn't been escorted to your table by a waiter, so-this guy had to be someone random, right?

You followed the hand up to the arm that was covered in a long sleeve, to the shoulder, broad and vaguely intimidating, to the slim neck, the angular chin and killer jawline. The moment you'd glimpsed his eyes, starry pools of deep brown, you knew.

Divine awkwardness. Honest eyes.

"Right, staring at me like I'm a serial killer. Got it."

"No-" You nearly choked, trying to salvage how jarring of a situation you'd found yourself in. "No, I remember you. You bumped into me the other day, right?" The redness of your cheeks seemed to have slipped past his notice, considering he was quick to avoid any more unnecessary eye contact. You blinked, realizing how dumb the whole thing sounded. A lot of people had bumped into you and you'd let it go without a problem, but this guy... he'd apologized, sending your world spinning for the few moments he'd actually interacted with you. Actually acknowledged you as a human being.

"You're the first person who's apologized to me on this godforsaken space station." You noted aloud.

He seemed to react shyly, cupping the back of his head with a hand and idly pulling at the curls in his natural, dark hair. He puffed out a laugh. Cute. "I'm going to hope that's a good thing."

Upon further observation, you noticed how absolutely tall he was compared to you, how out of place he really seemed next to all of these rising entrepreneurs. His stature was gawky, and he seemed to be only about as old as you were-which, by the going rate, was fairly rare. Everyone else seemed older, more experienced, and a lot less humble. He was young and barely making it.

"I just got on break-" He explained almost breathlessly, as if he'd just come back from running a mile. You were so caught up in his demeanor that you barely realized he'd sat himself down beside you. "Originally I was going to ask if there was anything I could do to make up for the other day, but Henderson told me you got moved, so I-"

"Hold up." You interjected, and he paused, fidgeting with his hands. "Henderson?"

His eyes widened, "Ah, forgot that part. I work-wait, I just realized you still don't even know my name."

"According to this, it's 'Reeze,' but I don't think that's quite right." You turned the coffee cup around for him to see, watching him deadpan in frustration.

"Rhys. I don't understand what's so hard about getting it right. It's Rhys. R-H-Y-S."

If he was trying to look menacing at all, he was instead accomplishing the opposite. You thought he looked adorable trying to reconcile with the countless times he'd apparently been misnamed.

"Well, if it helps any, Rhys, I'll remember." You remarked openly, smiling at him, showing you were on his side. He was flustered, leaning a hand on his leg as he faced-front.

"That... would help more than you know." There it was again, that honeyed tone of voice from your dreams. This was so unconventional. Maybe you were just weird. "Anyway, as I was saying," He began again, with you eyeing him curiously now. "I work for Henderson, I'm an intern at data-mining, and you were eventually supposed to work with me, but then- well, you know. Other job?" Rhys eyed you back, just as curious. "I'm not going to ask what it is, because I'm honestly terrified of what it could possibly be. Henderson made it sound like... swimming with skags. Or, you know, something equally as incredibly scary. You're alive, so that's probably a good sign."

You kept quiet, letting his thoughts sink in and allowing him the space to continue explaining. You didn't mind him talking a lot, even if it did remind you of a certain someone.

"So, as I was saying, again, when Henderson told me I might be working with someone new, I pulled up your file in the database and... uh, did my research, thaaat sounds so creepy." He caught himself, "Lo and behold when your picture appeared, I realized it was you, and I felt really really guilty, so I was planning to give you something as an added apology-but also a welcome gift. Because I'm a good coworker like that."

You laughed, catching him off-guard. You found him funny? "That's sweet, Rhys. Although... really, all that for just a shoulder-bump?"

He was a little quiet, as if going over it in his head. Maybe it was more than just a shoulder-bump to him? Maybe you were a hopeless romantic idiot.

"I dunno, I mean. I felt like it was needed, and especially when I saw you were in here alone-" He gestured to the window.

Oh, so someone had been gazing back at you. You pursed your lips, suddenly feeling insecure.

"You looked kind of sad-maybe I'm a bad judge of expressions; I thought you might want another one of these." He tapped the coffee cup, the one he'd brought over to you in the hopes to start up a conversation. Needless to say, it had been a mission success for him and a jumbling of emotions for you.

"It's a caramel macchiato. I-asked the barista to make me what you'd ordered. And also no, I didn't poison it or anything."

You wordlessly took the cup into your hands, risking a sip, then sighing in delight as the flavor tailored to your expectations. "...It's delicious. Thank you so much." You couldn't help but grin, head turning to give Rhys a sincere, grateful look. "And, you're eternally forgiven."

He exhaled in his own smile, having been holding in a breath during your heavy deliberation. "Eternally? Well, that makes this easy."

The morning had certainly supplied you with an unexpected, new reason for living. You'd actually made a friend.

You prayed this wouldn't backfire.


	6. Don't forget to breathe

In your moment of peace, chaos had come calling, knocking with a closed fist on your solid resolve.

Things had gone fairly smoothly in the weeks that had passed as you eased into your new, new life. You stared at a screen for nearly all of your day, almost all the time, save for resting periods which held little gratitude for you. It was unreasonably stressful, stepping into the shoes (or, rather, stepping behind the screen) of someone as much of a mystery to you as Jack was.

Even with all of the content surrounding him on the ECHO-net which he'd graciously hooked up for you prior to moving in, you still had an inkling of anxiety in attempting to mimic his patterns of speech, his language through the keyboard. You'd watched and rewatched videos Hyperion had prepared of him speaking to his adoring public on both business and personal affairs, as well as interviews from various 'credible' sources-even put yourself through fancams to note any particular behaviorisms that might help in your strange research. If anything, it had become quite clear how much he was idolized by his people, and now you had ascertained the 'why.'

He seemed a decent speaker, persuasive in areas you'd foreseen. He swayed the audience by calling them to action, driving in the nail with a bandwagon play. He was already handsome to start with, and no doubt he called attention to himself nearly all the time. He seemed to play up the mindset that if you weren't with Hyperion, you were against them. It seemed to reign in a lot of supporters. Of which...you still hadn't considered yourself.

Having spent your time reading and researching, you'd come across some discrepancies in his origin story, that which set off a few alarms but not enough to stop the certain stir in your chest. Dear lord, were you slowly becoming indoctrinated by this guy?

Maybe that had been his plan all along, to steal your mind, then steal your heart in the process. With his kind of luck, he seemed to steal hearts on the daily, so why would he ever want to steal yours?

It still screamed Phantom of the Opera to you. If you were to be as Christine Daaé, orphaned and individual in a sea of experienced performers, no doubt he had turned out to be the Phantom himself. Dust had formed upon his past, swept away to reveal its superficial appearance; a veiled legacy, a history that was still invisible to you. Eyes on your every move and strong commands spoken from a high place.

You questioned Raoul; the light to the Phantom's darkness, identity still unclear. It was probably better to tuck that thought away for now.

You were the only living thing cheering you on. The coffee hadn't pitched in to help your rapidly declining mood, and even with the occasional conversation with Rhys leaving you motivated, you felt it would be unkind and potentially dangerous to let him in. Alleviating yourself by venting to him about the pressure you felt-pressure he was probably already feeling himself, had you the chance to ask during his shortened break. Something had gone awry, whether by your hand or his own. He dwindled slowly from your grasp on account of longer work hours, though insisted everything was okay on his end. You worried for him in your downtime.

When working, however, your mind was put to Jack, only Jack. If you faltered, missed a tonal cue somewhere when answering emails, the illusion would be spotted, and you would be ousted. At least, that's how your environment made you feel. You had no choice but to work at home, whereas your psychology assured it hadn't been the best on your mental wellbeing.

How better off you would have been, had things gone right. Would you be sitting next to Rhys now, taking pointers, learning more about him? It was a bit draining to think of better scenarios, but even more so to endure the amount of drivel Jack really did receive in his inbox. It made you laugh-but not necessarily out of humor, because the way these people wrote clearly wasn't a joke.

_**'Dear Handsome Jack,'**_ one had started off, rather promising.

**_'Ur rlly hawt. I kno dis is wierd but I hav had dreems were we git marrid. /'_**

Okay, so maybe it wasn't that bad all the time. Jack had certainly acted as if it was, but did he really look?

_**'Dear Handsome Jack,**_

_**I know this might sound weird coming from a complete nobody, but... you're my hero.**_

_**When things get hard, I reflect on what you've accomplished as a person, how much you've sacrificed to make Hyperion what it is today, and how it's inspired me to be the best I can be on the daily.**_

_**The reason I'm writing to you is because I've met someone who I really want to impress.**_

_**I want to know: how can I be more like you, so that they'll like me?'**_

Honest, but lacking in self-confidence. Overworked and desperate for social help from their favorite Hyperion CEO.

Every email from fans came anonymous, probably as a failsafe in case it could ever have been traced back by an unknown source. There was no need to block any of these anonymous emailers, since Jack genuinely received no ounce of hate mail.

You answered the best you could, trying not to care as much as you did when typing out a response. Since Jack had already termed this to be 'junkmail' in his dictionary, you guessed he wouldn't have answered with anything more than a brash **_"idk loser, that's a 'you' problem."_** Or, something to that effect.

You had to keep pushing yourself away from the thought that he was capable of actually caring. It would be easier that way, less brainwash-y. Yes, he had a way of masking his inner thoughts, good at making people think they mattered to him. How wrong they were, but you weren't about to let them know that. It felt horrible to let people down in such a way, so in times like this you took a little creative license to make the blow softer, even after all of the research and psychological evaluation.

**_'Dear valued employee of Hyperion,_**

**_Welcome to the jungle! Through all of my struggles, I've kept a motto that's helped me in more ways than one: be your own hero._**

**_If you can show them you're the master of your own story, you'll be set for life, pal._**

**_Take initiative and don't look back._**

**_With love,_**

Handsome Jack

CEO of Hyperion Co.'

You settled back in your swivel chair, adjusting your posture as you sat on your hands and scanned through your work. Hesitant, you hit send before you could second-guess yourself any more than you already had.

One down, many more to go. He wasn't kidding when he'd said he was overrun. You were just glad to have this over staring at people's dumb faces all day. You had already become sick of the looks you got; it was much more preferable to be seated behind a desk all to yourself, in the comfort of your own room.

Jack had made it that much harder to hate him. He'd accomodated you nicely. Too bad he was so far up on his lofty throne to appeal to your cynical nature. Not that you weren't seated upon your own high horse.

A soft 'ding' sounded the end of your inner thoughts and your eyes were back to the screen.

**URGENT - RESPOND WITH HASTE**

**From:** AI

**To:** 1

**DISCLAIMER:** the content of this email is CONFIDENTIAL and only for the

information of the INTENDED RECIPIENT.

It may NOT be REDISTRIBUTED without

the PRIOR CONSENT of THE HYPERION CORPORATION.

THE ANGEL INITIATIVE (AI) is NOT LIABLE for any DAMAGES caused in the event that such CONFIDENTIAL INFORMATION has been leaked to the public.

Please view with DISCRETION.

* * *

View message?

Uh-oh... Moral dilemma?

You clicked so fast, you could hear your mouse practically groan from the effort.

**URGENT - RESPOND WITH HASTE**

**From:** AI

**To:** 1

* * *

_ E_

**Mr. Handsome Jack,**

**I am writing to confirm that you have consented for your daughter to continue undergoing Eridium treatment. In my professional opinion, I believe that it would not be in your best interest to keep her on this plan, given her deterioriating health and our rapid decline in resources.**

**It is highly probable we will soon find ourselves at a dead-end in terms of assets, and Angel's condition may worsen irreversibly.**

**Please consider these possibilities carefully before confirming your decision.**

**Best wishes,**

Lundan Everret, Er.D

Angel Initiative of Hyperion Co.

Yeah... Probably shouldn't have read that.

Your blood was ice as you quickly clicked out of the email, remembering to mark it unread as you closed out of the tab.

What the fuck? Lundan Everret... You swear you might've heard that name somewhere before at least, but Angel?

Jack... Handsome Jack had a daughter, and somehow had kept that fact a secret for this long?

Her health was declining?

You had little time to process any of the new information you'd just gathered however, what with a sharp knock that resounded at the door. You panicked, eyes shooting blame upward to the cameras surveying your work area. If you were about to die for what you'd seen, the found footage would never avenge you-after all, you'd been snooping through your boss' private emails.

With your luck, it was probably him.

"Uh... hello? Anybody home?" A voice through the door cemented your suspicions-it was totally Jack, and you were totally about to die.

You slammed your laptop closed. Your cinderblocks-for-feet had come back to greet you, leading to the doorway where you soon were to be dragged to hell. Your hands shook violently as they simultaneously latched onto the doorknob; you took a deep breath for what it was worth and turned the handle.

It... was Tim. You could tell immediately.

You were just an overdramatic idiot who'd momentarily forgotten they shared the same likeness (mask not included), voice-nearly everything aside from personality and morality scale. The way he awkwardly stood at the door was what gave him away, the contradiction to Jack's assured nature.

"Oh, thank whatever's up above." You breathed, teeth clenched as you tried to resolve your misplaced grief. "I don't know what I would have done if it wasn't you."

"...uh?" Timothy squinted at you, incredulous. He, of course, didn't know the angst he had just unintentionally put you through, but that wasn't really his fault. If Jack heralded Death in your midst, Timothy was naturally at the opposite end of the tarot card. You trusted him way more not to kill you, basically.

"So, before things get even more... awkward, I'm going to take that in a 'you-wanted-to-see-me' kind of way." He shook his hands out, effectively jazz-handing you. "It's me, I'm here!"

You allowed him in after the initial shock had begun to fade, having somehow forgotten your vendetta against him for leaving you flat last time. You watched him bumble around your abode with a kiddish kind of joy, openly marvelling at the little knick-knacks you'd set up in the midst of your severe time-crunch.

"D'aww, kitty." He cooed as he petted the small ceramic cat you'd haphazardly placed on the shelf.

"That's a 'lucky cat,'" You grinned fondly as he turned to look at you, clearly puzzled. "They're supposed to bring fortune to their owner-or, something like that." You'd piqued his curiosity; he began to examine it a bit closer. White, with subtle gold markings and writing in a long-dead language neither of you could decipher.

"Like... money-fortune?"

"Mm, good luck, wealth; either, probably."

"Looks like I need to get me one of these babies, then."

A gentle laugh escaped you. "You believe in things like that?"

He thumbed the edges of his outer jacket in thought. "If it'll pay off my student loans, uh, yeah. I'd probably believe anything."

Your eyebrows furrowed worriedly. "Don't... you think that's a little dangerous, though?"

"Oh you don't want to know even half the things I've had to do, sweetheart." His endearing tone tugged at something inside you for a split second.

"Why though, do you not believe in it?" He gave the cat a point with his outstretched thumb, "I mean, you're the one with the lucky charm, not me."

"Trust me, you've got plenty of charm; and, no, it was a gift from my grandfather. He really liked old-world stuff like that."

Tim sputtered, arms crossed at you once he realized he had no idea how to respond properly. You continued as though you'd given no thought to your comment, moving to stand beside him. "Despite how new it looks, it's seriously antique. My family has had it for a long time, but I don't really... I don't really know why I brought it here. It's not 'mine.'"

"I think I sorta get what you mean." He drawled, eyeing you from his peripheral vision. "A little."

His tune had drastically changed once he finally sat down, and you could tell the difference immediately once you'd also seated yourself, across from him. He was quiet for a good moment, having half-heartedly crammed himself on your best armchair as if he'd forgotten how to relax a long time ago.

"You're probably wondering why I'm here." He was noticeably fidgety, eyes darting to various focal points in his range until they settled on you, albeit hesitantly. "I- actually wanted to apologize-"

"You, too?" You laughed, somewhat snorting through your nose as you tried to contain it. "That makes you the second."

He seemed lightly offended, as though you'd just announced the winners of a rigged competition. His eyes narrowed at your tone.

"...Who's the first?"

You smiled innocently, lacing your fingers together. "Rhys, uh, Strongfork-he's my friend, from Data-Mining, you know, under Henderson. We were originally supposed to be working together."

Tim's expression morphed into one of mild surprise as you explained. "'Strongfork?'" He snickered. "Wow, you really pick 'em."

You pouted, confused by his tone. "What's that supposed to mean, exactly?"

"That you have a really weird knack for being coincidental." He smirked, "I've heard of the guy, he was the only other pick for Ja- uh, my- no- Handsome Jack's whole 'junkmail' gig thing. You know, the thingy you're in charge of now. Whatever it is." It was your turn for raised eyebrows. Now that wasn't something you'd expected.

"Wait, so you're saying... if I hadn't taken the job, he would've given it to Rhys instead?"

"Ee-yup. Exactly. You got it." Now you were the one feeling offended.

"Then why did he make it sound like I was the only one on the list?" That's what you cared about? Yeesh.

"If you learn anything about that guy, it's that A) he doesn't shut up, and B) he says some really stupid shit, and people still believe him." He caught himself, alarmed, "Not that-not that you're... stupid... for believing him, hah..."

You were thoughtful on this, still pouting. Tim leaned forward as he scanned your face, subconsciously mimicking your expression.

"Well, I forgive you, anyway." You sighed, pressing your hands together in finality.

"Oh- no, I didn't tell you why I'm sorry. I really need to say it so it'll finally get out of my head." You respected his urgency, nodding in approval.

"Okay, so, hear me out. I didn't mean to leave you like that, and I really- wanted to say-" He gulped, suddenly losing all confidence in his words. "Uhhh... I wanted to say..."

You didn't interrupt, though you did cover your mouth with your hand, coughing out your laughter at his expense-you were lucky he didn't seem to notice anything past his own anxiety.

"We- w- we should have that, uh- the date."

You blinked. "'The date?""

"Yeah, uh... you know... w- we were going to- go for lunch... sometime... maybe..."

"Oh! Right, yes-of course, I'm so sorry I forgot-" You spluttered, cheeks pink.

"No-! It's okay, don't worry about it." He pressed two fingers to the back of his neck. "So, you-yes?"

"Yes! When do you think we should-?"

"Oh, well, I- I still have to figure out if I'll be free first, so..."

"How about- when you come up with a good day and time, you text me?" You stood, moving to your desk and receiving your standard-class cellphone.

Tim was agape, "Wh- wait, you want my number? You're- giving me your number? For real?"

"Yes-?" You confirmed, moving to sit back down, though your eyes followed his quick emotional switch. You took the notepad next to your chair. "Here, can you get me that pen?"

He was frozen still for a minute, then turning to do as asked. You wrote your number down on the pad then handed the paper to him, much to his apparent shock. "I've never- I mean, wow, thank you."

"You're welcome-?"

He hesitated before standing from his chair, and you watched him pace around in his thoughts until deciding to turn to the door.

"I should- uh, head out." He brushed his fingers through his hair. "I'll see ya when I see ya?"

You offered a soft wave. "See you soon."

"Soon." He parroted, leaving you with his best smile. Your heart fluttered as you trailed him to the door, closing it behind him.

A long sigh escaped you, though your moment of reprieve was almost instantaneously interrupted by the violently vibrating phone in your hand. You turned it over to see the caller ID and answered quickly after. A broad smile crossed your face, restrained laughter burning your throat.

"So, you finally got sick of texting me at like 4 in the morning? You have some nice timing."

Rhys' voice came clear through your speaker. "What-? Hey, no, listen here. I've just... Henderson has me working weird hours, okay, so you should feel lucky that I'm even awake right now. And- sorry for that, by the way."

"Oh, I'm very lucky." You eyed the cat on your shelf. "I'm pretty honored that you felt like calling this time, that's new."

He laughed brightly, "I'm pretty cool like that."

You fell back into the chair you'd previously sat in, "You are? Since when?"

Shuffling.

"...Rhys? Hello?"

"Here, I'm here. Sorry; I've been re-organizing my room all morning."

You shook your head at him despite that he was oblivious to it. "I was afraid you almost forgot about me."

"No-I didn't, I promise, I'm just trying to figure out a way to word the question I had, so that it doesn't come out... weird."

"A question? For me?" Clearly, your interest had already peaked. He sighed somewhat aggravatedly, accidentally breathing directly into the phone and nearly causing you to burst with laughter.

"Yeah, so I got invited to this party, and I figured, _I'mallowedtobringpeople, andIfeltbadbecauseyouhaven'treallyhadachancetogetoutthereandmakeconnections,_ so I thought, maybe, _youmightwanttocomeandmeetmyfriends?"_

"Whoa, slow your roll a second. What's the question?"

"Sorry- okay." He hesitated, clearing his throat. "How would you feel about coming to a party tonight, so I can introduce you to my friends?" Oh. Huh.

You hummed, "Depends. What kind of party is it?"

You could feel yourself smirk, that unidentifiable feeling rising in your chest again. Your whole life up till now had really been one big string of parties. Your mother, famed screenwriter as she was, often took you along on her quest for inspiration among the biggest names in the galaxy. That... hadn't really meant all that much to you at the time, at least until you began to understand the struggle of finding people to base characters on in your stories.

Aside from that, the mystique of it all had been lost on you. You'd ironically paid too much attention to the annoying side-dramas going on to really have a good time.

The richness of wine filled your senses as you slipped back in time. You could feel your mother tugging you through a sea of sweet-smelling celebrities with too much birthright and not enough common decency. You... also recalled her many matchmaking attempts, frowning.

"Now you're dozing off on me." Your frown immediately disappeared.

"Nope, I was just remembering something-what were you saying?"

He gave a nervous laugh. "Well, it's the kind of party where everyone dances, gets drunk off their asses, and then starts yelling at each other? That description doesn't really make it sound nice-but it is, I promise. Usually. Hopefully... Please come."

You hummed, "Oh, don't worry; I was already on board. Dancing, getting drunk off my ass, and then yelling at people is... my aesthetic™."

You could almost hear him smiling. "Oh, so you made me go through the pain of thinking you might say no? I'm hurt."

"Good. What time?"

"Is it okay if I come over at 7:45?"

"Um..." You noted the cameras by your desk again with a light, frustrated groan.

"You... uh, okay over there?"

"Yeah, I just- don't know if I should tell you where I live."

"Ohh- I understand. I promise I wasn't suggesting anything beyond just, you know, me, coming to the door, you opening the door, me walking you to the party, because it takes like, what, 2 minutes to get there-"

"Rhys-I get it;" You exhaled through your teeth, "You don't have to explain, because I trust you. It's just- my job. The rules are admittedly a little fuzzy."

"Ooh, right. Hm." He was quiet, breathing outward, likely attempting to bargain with his curiosity. "Okay, I'll send you the room number-and remember, it's at 8."

"Gotcha. I'll see you then." You hung up before he could add anything else, laying back on your chair and hugging your arms around yourself.

A Hyperion party, huh? ...What the heck were you going to wear?


	7. The less you know, the better

Take it from your bestie; it's one of the hardest things in the world deciding whether to show up the competition or dress down to avoid the attention of ne'er-do-wells you'd never have given the time to-were it even your choice to begin with. You were on another type of spectrum in terms of common courtesy, and when it came to status, despite what your upbringing had taught you it wasn't in your code to intentionally attract danger. With your mother's voice nagging in the back of your mind at every venture, it became harder and harder not to foil her every expectation.

You'd been taught to stand out, though it was more in your nature to be as a flower on the wall, observing the relationships that had already blossomed while you bloomed alone and off the peace you'd saved for yourself.

If it weren't for the stakes at hand, you probably would have went with that angle again, too. Now you had liabilities, you had people you wanted to trust and give your attention to in the hopes that they would return the gesture. It made sense to branch out at this point-or, at least, Rhys' insistence had been rather convincing to your walled-off brainspace, that there were people out there who actually gave a damn about your self-worth. That there existed decency in a place renowned for its love-defying modus operandi.

The moment you stepped out onto thick, carpeted flooring it was back to textbook interaction, secondhand smoke flaring in your face and old-world electropop blasting around you from a high-quality speaker setup.

_'Oh my love, can't you see yourself by my side?_

_No surprise, when you're on his shoulder like every night;_

_Oh my love, can't you see that you're on my mind?_

_Don't suppose we could convince your lover to change his mind;_

_So goodbye.'_

You'd only taken a couple steps before you were faced with the real crowd.

Rhys lingered at the center-people of all shapes and sizes shaded in softly fluctuating neon-yet he remained the tallest among those who were, statistically, way out of his league. You smiled wryly at his expense.

It took you by surprise, how easily he'd slipped between enemy lines and convinced himself he was part of their crowd. In your mind that was the only way he could've survived, standing in the eye of the storm, pretending he was just as deadly as the rest of them. Fortunately, you knew better; he'd given you the opportunity to look past the front he put on for other people. It was only right that you try your best to return the favor-without compromising his safety, of course. Who you were didn't stop at your resumé, despite what some would believe. You'd get to that.

You almost hadn't recognized him at first; he'd traded his business attire for a sweater look, a cup (of the devil's punch, you assumed) in his left hand. He didn't seem the drinking type, but maybe you'd given him too much credit. The prettiest ones always harbored the worst habits, and even you weren't an exception to that rule. Didn't make it any healthier.

Whatever story he was telling hadn't yet caught your ear. You kept a safe distance as you attempted to read lips, until your eyes slid to the shorter man beside him, sunnily mouthing along to the song that filled up any remaining space in the room.

_'I was doing fine without you,_

_'Til I saw your face, now I can't erase;_

_Giving in to all his bullshit,_

_Is this what you want, is this who you are?'_

You felt your body suddenly become acclimated, recycling and reforming your persona into one you'd thought had tucked itself away for good. You pushed your way forward with renewed energy, giving little thought to highbrow individuals who questioned your existence as you made your way past.

"Move it, bucko. Precious cargo coming through." What with your heart beating in your ears, there was little they could do to break your stride as you made your way to higher ground.

Rhys stood at your attention; he'd already snapped out of his grandstanding to regard you with a tinge of mystery in his expression. His fingers tightened their grip around the cup in his palm, unbeknownst to you, as he shared a split-second glance with the friend at his side.

You offered a meek smile. What you showed to the rest of the world was in clear contradiction to the way you carried yourself around honest company, and he had taken note. It didn't matter what you were wearing so long as you wore it while retaining who you were on the inside. He'd have to keep that in mind.

"Hey," You grinned at him as he came down from the initial shock, your eyebrow raised as you posed the single, most important question on your mind. "How's the weather up there?"

Red blossomed at the tips of his ears. His friend expelled a resounding laugh when Rhys found himself unable to respond; "Ohoho-man. Hi!"

Rhys could only manage a strangled cough. "Vaughn-" He wheezed, "This is, uh, that friend I was telling you about."

You laughed, and Rhys watched rather intently as you reached for a handshake, "It's, uhhh, nice to meet you! I'm _."

Vaughn quickly accepted said handshake, practically exhaling sunshine. "Oh, trust me, I've heard so much about you." He sipped from a cup that was also in his other hand, and this then led to some conclusions.

Was he drunk? Maybe he was drunk-or just really that happy all the time? Well, Rhys didn't seem drunk. You'd only been here for what, 5 minutes, and the party had barely even begun-so maybe he just really couldn't hold his liquor-?

Okay, so it was a bit surreal coming to find that Rhys shared company with someone this friendly. Though... if you were honest, you weren't really sure what you had been expecting. In other words, it was a pretty good sign. Uh, hopefully. Not... that you were seeking any further reasons to truly accept how you had come to feel.

"And this is Yvette," Rhys continued, still attempting to play it off as if he wasn't the man with a shattered ego.

"He won't stop talking about you," A serene voice from your left; your eyes turned to follow Rhys' gesture, finding a woman dressed primly, the amused smile on her face aiding the butterflies in your stomach. She was... really pretty, wow.

Wait... he'd been talking about you? Why?

"I'm glad you're here; now he'll finally shut up."

"Yvette." Rhys' pained tone set you off into another fit of laughter. You could feel Yvette's eyes sizing you up from the side, and straightened your back in the hopes of accomodating her judgement.

"I'm glad I'm here too," You clasped your hands together in front of you, intertwining your fingers. "Although, I doubt it'll make him quiet. I actually tend to have the opposite effect."

Vaughn snorted, and that only made you laugh again, this time at your own joke. Rhys pinched the bridge of his nose in light disgust. "Wow, I-wow. Okay."

"Do you drink?" Yvette abruptly skirted the topic with grace, and you nodded.

"Yes, although-it depends. What's in the punch today?"

"The best we could strive for was beer. You're probably gonna need it."

"Then that definitely works."

You watched as she moved past you to get you a cup of your own, though when you turned your head back to Rhys, he was absolutely mortified.

"Hey...Rhys?" When he didn't respond adequately, you followed his eyes, trailing his gaze to a sultry blonde woman hanging on the arm of a large-built man with dark hair. Your eyes narrowed, "Who's-?"

"Uh-oh..." Vaughn hummed, "Is that who I think it is?"

Rhys breathed out, barely holding on. "Stacey... and Vasquez. Yeah."

You looked from him to the couple; whoever Stacey was, she was also really pretty. Her hair was in blonde curls, and her painted lips had curved into an impish smile.

Aside from... that, though, she appeared to be a particularly happy person, or else just high off the atmosphere and the presence of the man next to her. Speaking of which-Vasquez seemed the kind of guy you knew from back home. The air of arrogance about him shaded his girl in the same sourness, and you abruptly recognized the feeling in your gut as one of absolute distaste.

When your eyes found Rhys again, he seemed to struggle. The half-empty cup in his hand shook, and you found yourself taking it from him so as to avoid accident. His face softened as he looked to you, seeking some kind of solace in the midst of whatever torment he was dealing with which you were painfully oblivious to.

"Rhys," You spoke gently in attempt to ease his nerves, quickly realizing his emotions were climbing toward volatile heights. "What's happening?"

"That's my girlfriend." He spat, then laughed in recognition of irony. "Was my girlfriend. Stacey. I'll be right back." Ah... Of course. You'd already seen what would come next, countless times before.

The cup fell from your hands, its contents splashing all over your shoes as you grasped onto his arm with both of your hands. Panic simultaneously washed over you as it flashed on his face. "Rhys. Don't."

There was so much to unpack within that single moment. He had a girlfriend. His girlfriend was with some other guy, over there, and now he was clearly about to go break up whatever was happening in some grand display of testosterone.

He hesitated as you held him still for a moment, then broke away with his piled frustrations intact.

"Let go of me." You were powerless.

Vaughn seemed to share the same sentiment, his free hand reaching out for his best friend. "God-Rhys! Oh, shit!"

You watched in peril as he stormed forward, pushing people aside solely by sheer will and the dark expression in his eyes until he came to rest a couple feet in front of the two in question. You couldn't tell what they were saying, but their smug righteousness seemed to explain everything for you.

Yvette returned, cup in hand as she sighed and held it out to you.

"I told you, you're gonna need it." And you did. You took the cup and downed as much as you could before taking off after Rhys across the room.

"-ou, you're old news to everyone around here."

As soon as you came within earshot, you heard that 'Vasquez' guy spewing petty insults. Rhys' attention was on his 'girlfriend' for the moment; he seemed to try hard to dodge any attempts at shaking his resolve further. "The first damn time was already over my limit. This is... you're insane."

To see this play out-it felt like a side to Rhys you'd never wanted to know. The tone of his voice just about tore your heart in half, whereas the situation by itself had already been enough to shred it to bits. Sure, there had been the parties from before; the drama put on by haughty celebrities and their list of scandals that made you yawn the longer they went on. This was not that.

This hurt you, too.

"You never listened to me because all you fucking care about is yourself." She retorted, "At least now someone actually makes me feel wanted."

Stacey's derision cut so deep, you couldn't even begin to imagine how much it hurt him.

"I lived and breathed for you once upon a time. I gave you everything. Now, I don't even give a shit. You two have fun while it lasts, I guess." Rhys would've turned around and let them be, had things gone right, but Vasquez couldn't seem to stand not having the last laugh. He stepped forward, eyeing where you'd approached Rhys from behind.

"No way, you're not getting off that easy. Who's this little gem?" He just couldn't resist. "A new addition to the circus?" A shit-eating grin lit up his features when he saw your upper lip twitch with disgust.

"None of your fucking business, that's who." You mouthed off, and Rhys flinched at your unexpected tone. You pulled on his arm and he responded as though his limb was made of jelly. Your steeled gaze only strengthened, especially as he fell in behind the shield you'd conjured out of thin air. "If you don't quit right now, you're really going to regret it."

Vasquez still wasn't convinced, wanting a fight. "And what makes you think I'm scared of you?"

"If you touch me, or him, you're fucking dead. Got it?" You laughed, "Oh, and if that's not clear enough, I'll put it this way: I work directly for the guy who runs this goddamn space station, and he sure as hell can make sure you're not sucking in oxygen tomorrow."

Silence. So-maybe you'd jumped the gun and exaggerated the part where Jack actually gave a damn whether or not people picked on you... or your friends, but it would be for a good reason, right? Vasquez had to be the kind of guy to believe Jack would kick his ass for this-or at least you really hoped he was stupid enough to think so.

"Here, I'll make things even easier for you," You offered, changing your stance in the hopes of making things much less aggressive. Plus, trying to avoid owning up to your lofty claims to importance. "We're going to leave right now, and you're never going to put him-" You gestured to Rhys with your arms, "-in this position ever again."

Vasquez opened his mouth to spew another retort but didn't seem to have the same support at his back. Stacey withdrew, scoffing. "Listen, Hugo, they're not even worth our time. Just shut up."

You inhaled a sharp breath as you watched Vasquez retreat backwards, gesturing with his hands for you to leave swiftly. AKA, flipping you both off with, oh, much class in his wake.

You were blind in your actions then, tugging Rhys out of the room by his arm when you didn't hear him complain, hurrying your way back to your safe haven. He didn't offer so much as a sigh to indicate what kind of mood he was in until you had hastily closed the door behind you. You didn't look at him, even as you fell back into your favorite armchair.

He sobbed. "I'm sorry,"

"Rhys-no. Please, god, don't." Your voice was small. It wouldn't take much for you to break at this point, and you really didn't want him to see that after all this. He went quiet again, observing his surroundings with patience. Then, he sat himself down in the chair across from you, leaning with his elbows on his knees and his hands in his hair.

In your haste, you'd forgotten to kick off your shoes. You could feel the beer that had seeped into the soles, squishy, and suddenly recognized the pungent smell of alcohol that also permeated your clothing. Yuck.

Rhys shuffled, eyeing you, and you quickly gave in before his gaze would burn a hole in your head, sighing.

"Rhys, just listen to me, okay?" His expression seemed to perk up immediately, and you were spontaneously reminded of the bleary-eyed puppy your parents had back home. "This... obviously didn't at all turn out how I'd wanted it to, but that's really okay. I was afraid you were about to get your ass kicked, but you didn't, and now-well, we're here."

"What did you mean, before?" He cleared his throat and used the back of his hand to wipe the wetness from his eyes. He looked like hell, although you'd clearly prevented him from looking much, much worse.

Besides... hell looked kind of good on him. "-When you said something about 'working for the guy who runs' this place, did you mean, like-the guy? Or, are you just really good at bluffing?"

You blinked at him, debating on whether to tell the truth and get it out in the open. You'd already pretty much blown your cover by telling Vasquez, but only real idiots would automatically believe you hadn't just pulled that out of your ass. In either event, you just hoped he would actually listen to your warning and stay away from the both of you.

Rhys, on the other hand, would either trust you or use it as an excuse to run as far away as possible-maybe both-but you particularly hoped it wouldn't include the latter.

"Before you say," He interjected, "I just want you to know: no one has ever done that for me before. And, I mean, while it was inherently horrifying to watch... I really, truly appreciate it. So, if it helps at all, remember that I'm on your side."

"It's... not entirely a bluff." You couldn't help avoiding him when you spoke, eyes averted, stuck on the stupid ceramic cat on your shelf. "Yeah, I work for Handsome Jack. But, it's not a very... conventional job. I, um, I answer his fanmail."

"You-what?" Rhys blinked, his dark eyes wide in unfiltered awe. You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled over; things had been too emotional for you to handle that it just kind of made itself known as soon as you felt any inkling of happiness return to you. Finally, you'd strived to let Rhys in.

And... then you started crying, and it was all downhill from there. Maybe it was the booze? Or the bad memories.

"Hey-not you too, that's not allowed." Rhys pouted, quick to spring up from his seat and offer his hands in comfort. You weren't sure what to make of the gesture at first, until you'd accepted his arms around you.

"Gosh," You exclaimed, and you could feel him chuckle at the word. "I've never had a shoulder to cry on."

His unruly hair tickled your ear. "Well, consider this shoulder designated for you as of today. Anytime you need. The offer never expires."

It hadn't been painfully obvious how deprived of affection you were until you'd had the opportunity to absolutely drown in it. You sat at an awkward angle for quite some time, amazed that he had even put up with you for that long. You could tell by the way he limped away from you that the sustained position had a lasting effect, though he seemed pretty adamant to brush it under the rug.

Your face brightened. "Rhys..." At his name, his eyes immediately latched onto you. "Can I show you something?" He watched you stand from your seat and walk across the room. You kicked off your beer-soaked shoes at the door, then excitedly padded over to your balcony, barefoot on the patterned carpet. Rhys followed suit, matching your steps with a longer stride. You flung open the curtains and entered the glass doorway with your hands outstretched, reaching to grip onto the cold railing that kept you from plummeting to the artificial city below.

Rhys hesitated at the doorway to the balcony, and you turned to question him when realization punched you square in the face.

"Ooh, somebody's acrophobic?" You didn't tease, instead regarding him with newfound curiosity.

He ran a hand through his hair, a habit you'd come to admire after spending a priceless amount of time with him. It was, uh... really cute. "Mm, just... you know, a little."

You smiled, holding your hand out. "Well, do you trust me more?" Rhys regarded you carefully, his eyes passing over your face as he thought it through. If he stepped closer, you'd be able to hear his pounding heart. Though, whether caused by your gesture or the prospect of facing his fear was anyone's guess but his.

"My gut says yes."

He accepted your hand. Your mouth fell open a bit to accommodate the shock it had sent throughout your body. Slowly he came to stand next to you, refusing to let go. You stood there with him, just looking down on your world, your hand in his. "It's, uh... really pretty, you know?"

"Yeah," He quickly replied, and your head turned in his direction as soon as you detected hesitation.

"Do you... know where we are?"

"What?"

"No, like-hold on-I worded that weird."

"Oh," He laughed, and you felt him squeeze your hand. "I swore you were about to pull the amnesia card, I got so scared."

Your face felt... warm. "I meant-okay; if I tell you, you have to promise not to talk to anyone about it, alright?"

He faced you, "I promise. Right off the bat."

"Okay," You smiled, "So, this..." You gestured to your home with your free hand; "Since I didn't really get the chance to explain much, this is my apartment, obviously."

"Right, I got that part. Nice place."

"Shush," You bit your lip to stop from laughing. This was meant to be serious.

"I was saying before, how I answer Handsome Jack's fanmail-and, well, yeah, I do. But he also gave me this room."

Rhys froze, letting go of your hand. You loathed the emptiness that rushed you. "So you do work for Jack directly?"

"Yeah... I do."

"As in... You've... met him? In person? And he didn't completely obliterate you?"

"Uh... Yes and no. I'm still here, aren't I?"

He chuckled, apologetic but also seeming on the verge of some kind of dork-attack. "Sorry-wow, what am I saying. It's just that, well, he's, uh, my hero..."

"Well, your 'hero' lives right down the hallway from me. How do you feel?"

"Like I should come here more often."

You burst out in a laugh, and he blushed, turning to head back inside.

"Speaking of which... I wanted to ask, err..." He ran a hand through his hair, again. Your heart fluttered, again. "Can I come see you tomorrow?"

"You can stay-" You blurted as you followed him in, then tried to backtrack as soon as he'd thrown you a questioning, yet... amused(?), look.

"Uh, because, you know; I'm afraid that dumbass will try to come after you if you're alone." It wasn't a tone you were used to hearing yourself speak in. Soft, convincing. "It's not safe right now, so... you're welcome to stay here for the night."

"Who, Vasquez? He's not-okay, maybe he is the kind of guy who would try something like that." Rhys puffed out a mixed sigh, partly frustrated and partly relieved. Suddenly, his eyes widened. "Oh, shit, we left Vaughn and Yvette."

"Oh," You bit your lip. In the process of defending Rhys and subsequently finding safer ground, you'd completely forgotten about anyone else.

"I mean, I guess they'll be alright... I'll just text them. Yeah, I'll do that." He fumbled for his phone, muttering to himself, pulling it out of his pocket and typing furiously fast as he'd sat himself down on the edge of your desk, worry evident in the arch of his brow.

You watched him in a new light as you moved across the room to your dresser. His posture was tense, it was clear how much his friends meant to him, and yet he'd still somehow forgotten their existence from the time you'd smuggled him into your room up until about a minute ago. He was altogether of a different class, unlike anyone you'd ever met. You'd made eyes at him, held his hand, felt the spark. And yet there was still so much left to uncover. Question marks everywhere.

Maybe... this was your chance.

"Hey, Rhys." You began, casual, pretending to busy yourself with the various drawers in front of you. "I just realized, you never told me where you're from."

"Eden-5. It's the wealthiest (as they say,) but the police aren't helpful, like, at all. Everyone just bribes them." Without even turning around you could imagine the smirk on his stupid face, despite the front of innocence he put up. "...How come? Are you interested?"

"You... could say that."

The grin in his voice radiated through you. "Well, how about we make it fair? I'll tell you something about me, and you can tell me something about you."

"That sounds fair to me."

"Then, where are you from?"

"Aquator, like Henderson." You sighed with your whole body. "There's a lot of douchey celebrities and too much water, well, everywhere."

"Aquator...huh." He mulled it over, "...What are your parents like?"

"No, it's my turn." You scolded, but he just smiled. "What are your parents like?"

He'd come up from behind, taking the empty spot at the wall to gaze at you with probing eyes. "They're... kind. Raised me to do the right thing, believe it or not." He hummed, "My dad's an engineer, mom's a doctor."

"Engineer and doctor, hm?" You smiled, eyes stuck to the shirts you idly fumbled with. "I expected at least one of those. Good genes."

"Hah, uh... wow." He breathed out a laugh, "...Wh-haaat about yours?"

"Mom: screenwriter, and dad: ...tour guide." You pursed your lips, "My mom's kind of famous there? Or, infamous, probably. She's the type that would take me to these big events, and then attempt to groom me into marrying some big-wig's son or daughter."

He covered his mouth with his hand, as though thinking a bit hard on what you'd said. "Son or daughter?"

You grinned, "Naturally." Then gave him the ol' eyebrow wiggle, of course. "Sometimes... both... at once."

His eyebrows raised. "What-...wait, really? B-...Both..."

You burst out laughing at his pure sensibilities, "No!-joke, it's a joke, Rhys, I promise." He chewed on his finger to resist from commenting further, but you continued to play. "So, mmmm; what did you study in college?"

"Easy." Rhys smirked, apparently seeing right into your soul. "Robotics." So he did go to college. Fuck.

...You were always a sucker for the Robotics majors. Technological scientists, usually with their own sense of being set apart from others.

It was different from the other sciences, required a lot more in the realm of ingenuity. Self-building, reliance on confidence to make a mechanism function properly. No wonder he'd given you that vibe; he'd shown to have a bit of a hard time expressing himself, but to you that just indicated he was better at other things.

Now, 'other things' had a more specific identity: he was better at working with his hands, tinkering; intellectual pursuits that existed beyond social prowess. It was... odd, still, given that he seemed to have placed himself as someone of the opposite standing.

"As much as it was my 'thing,' I ended up falling in love with coding, and that's pretty much how I got here." He crossed his arms, turning his head coolly, though still calmly admiring you from his peripheral vision. "Of course, I mean, there were other reasons. Like... Jack."

Jack had started out a lowly programmer, as had went his personal account. Having admitted himself to being a bit of a fanatic, it made sense that the stories had driven Rhys to come here of all places. You'd had your own share of that splendor, albeit without feeling the need to stoop to the level of borderline worship as the rest appeared to.

"Wrong," You teased, "Unfortunately for me, you're very brainwashed. Fortunately for you, I'm not."

"Yet;" He retorted in turn. You threw a shirt at him, and he cowered immediately-to your amusement. "What the hell-"

"Wear that, it'll be way more comfortable when you sleep." You began to rummage through your other drawers, ignorant to the look of bewilderment on his face. "Let me just... find some pants... and then you'll be all set."

"Wow, you're... really intent on me staying the night." He murmured, shyly turning away from you to shed his sweater and don the Hyperion-issued t-shirt you'd still never worn. At least it was getting some use now-and certainly not to waste, that was for sure.

You casually admired him from behind, watching his back and glimpsing a distinct, blue tattoo which stretched across his arm. Curious... You would have to question him about it later. You had another... more pending question to ask, as it were.

You wheezed, "Do you... normally strip in front of your friends, or is it just for me?"

"Wh-what, no, I mean-" At this rate, his adorkable nature should have killed you by now.

"If it makes you more comfortable, this luxurious apartment is, in fact, equipped with a state-of-the-art bathroom." You gestured to the one, then threw a pair of your old, baggy-but-very-comfortable sweatpants at his face.

"God-stop throwing things at me, I'm going." He pouted, trudging his way over and then closing the door behind himself. Still didn't stop him. "It's my turn again," You could hear him speak, slightly muffled by the door, which honestly made you smile a little. "What made you come here?"

"I actually kind of... ran away, sort of. I didn't want the life my mom wanted for me, I just kind of packed my things and left at the first opportunity."

"Oh, shit... really?" Rhys had paused his shuffling to listen; you imagined him pressing his ear to the door and the visual made you laugh a bit. "...What's funny?"

"No, nothing. I'm... a writer, of sorts. I came here in search of a more interesting personal narrative." It was the truth, after all.

He paused to open the door, his clothes folded in his arm as he walked over. Your face flushed, seeing him approach you wearing your clothes. He didn't seem too fazed by it himself, more focused on you to notice the context. "What kind of writer are you? Like-what genre?"

"Uh..." You snickered, "Romance, actually. It's ironic, I know."

"No-no, not ironic. More, erm... coincidental?"

"Rhys," You gasped, playful as you pat his arm in a mock-hit. "Are you really trying to get in my pants on the same night your girlfriend cheated on you? ...Again?"

"Generally-speaking, I'm... already in them. So, ha." Rhys coughed, leaning against the wall again like some big-shot casanova. "But, uh, yeah, let's not bring that up."

"Figured it was the elephant in the room;" You confessed, "It was worth a shot."

"I guess I owe you that much," He sighed, handing you his clothes, which you set on top of the dresser in a neat pile.

"Talk to me. Please?" You took him by the arm, dragging him over to sit on your previously-ignored couch. "I want to know more about you."

He rubbed the back of his neck with a stubborn hand, humming gently. "Well, okay. But there's really not much to tell."

You shook your head as you offered your hand, "You still trust me, right?" He took it confidently and you smiled, "I'm all ears. I promise."

He began, "When I first started working here, I was at the bottom rung. I worked with Stacey a lot of the time since she was too, so we tended to endure the same struggles. We just kind of... hit it off after that." He swallowed thickly, steadily becoming anxious. "We started dating, and I really, really liked her. I trusted her with... well, everything. There was a point where I thought I was completely in love with her, but she took that, and she just..."

He expelled a sharp breath, puffing out a harsh sigh. You squeezed his hand encouragingly, and he squeezed back. "She cheated on me with that guy, Vasquez. He's... He's basically old enough to be my dad; I don't know what the hell she even sees in him. And now, she's done it again. I guess it's fine, because my trust was already broken? I just..." He closed his eyes tightly, "I just still didn't need it. You know? It doesn't hurt any less."

"I do know," You spoke quietly, "I've... seen it happen a lot back where I'm from. I practically grew up around it. It doesn't matter what kind of status you have, it's always hard to trust anyone. You never know if they'll turn on you for one reason or another." You soothingly swiped your thumb across the top of his hand, "Personally, it's really hard for me to trust people for that reason alone. Having seen betrayal so often that I just expect it to happen."

When he remained quiet, you took it as him listening in turn. "I've learned something from it, and it's that you have to maintain your personal integrity, even when everyone around you may turn out to be not what they say they are." You patted his hand, then poked him in the chest, causing him to look you in the eye. "As long as you're you, Rhys. As long as you can still recognize yourself, you can move on. You can grow from what you've been through and become even better. Even stronger."

A small sigh escaped even you, now. "...Or at least, that's what I tell myself a lot."

"I've never met anyone like you before," He mused aloud, genuinely, but you just snickered.

"I should've figured you weren't even listening to a thing I was saying."

"No, no-I was, it's just that... you're also really nice to look at." Panic flashed across his face then, "That's not to say-I meant that I appreciate your intelligence and wisdom first, before your... looks."

"Mmhm. I've heard that one before," You smirked. "Sounds like lip service to me."

"Oh, I can show you lip service." He attempted to smirk back, but became goofy as soon as his expression slowly morphed back into nervous panic.

"Save it for tomorrow," You grinned and retreated to your bed as he softly pouted. "I'm seriously exhausted."

"Tomorrow," He clicked his tongue. "Got it." Dork. "...Do I at least get a pi-" A pillow hit his face, causing him to fall back onto the couch, muffled. "-llow. Thank you."


	8. Let me in

You couldn't recall the last time you'd had such a restful sleep. Sure; nights in the atmosphere of luxury gave you peace of mind, but more often than not they reminded you of home-the very thing you'd tried to get away from. Wrapped up in expensive sheets, it was something out of a dream that you could finally call yours.

Suffice it to say, there had been a handful of times before where you dreamed in a bed that belonged to someone else. In the company of elites, it was hard not to fall prey to the charms of starry-eyed heirs with too little self-restraint and all the expectations in the world. You were one of them, after all.

In truth you were soft-hearted, but had never found a person or cause to truly commit yourself to. You clung to self-denial with a vice grip and assumed yourself to be burdened with being alone. By sunrise, you always were. The next morning would come and you would expect things to be no different, regardless of attachment, regardless of status or prior pursuit.

But Rhys touched your arm, and you awoke with a shudder, willing yourself to acknowledge the change that had occurred in your narrative.

"Rhys?" Your voice eased itself into being, "Hey... What's wrong?" Your eyes opened, bleary, tracing his shadowy outline against a backdrop of darkness. He knelt by the side of the bed and smiled solemnly, though the gesture was overlooked by your groggy mind.

"No... nothing's wrong." A pause, then an anxious breath. "I just... it's midnight, and..."

You turned, righting yourself in your bed and pulling at your pajamas to adjust them from their close hold on your body.

"I'm sorry," He watched you with cautious eyes, "I probably should have just left you be."

"Shh..." You sat upright as you addressed him. "I'm here to listen. That's how it should be."

When you turned to reach for your lamp, he gently took your hand. "I... think what I have to say is better left in the dark." Your eyebrows furrowed, though you still struggled to make out his expression amongst the fuzzy blackness of night.

"So..." He sighed, again, and you held the hand that held yours, comforting his insecurities. "I want to be completely honest with you." You nodded, hoping his eyes had long since adjusted to the dark. He seemed to receive the gesture, continuing on. "It's midnight right now... and the reason I'm awake, the reason I woke you up is because I can't stop thinking about what happened last night."

You urged him on with a squeeze to the hand, giving him the space to speak his mind.

"At the party... you were so quick to defend me. Why did you? Why would you put yourself at risk?" You closed your eyes, honing in on his careful, accusatory words. A tinge of fear masked by confusion. Did he actually want an answer from you, or was he asking himself?

"I couldn't stand watching things go on the way they did," You explained, truthful. "I've been in your shoes before, and... There was really no choice. I was scared they would hurt you. And no one else would have done anything if they did."

He was quiet until, "It means a lot to me. And this, letting me stay-it just really means a lot."

"Good," You hummed, "That was kind of the idea."

Rhys' hand tremored in your grasp. "What do you... think... about me?"

"...What?" Out of left-field, the question that hit you square in the face. Your jaw tightened as you struggled to formulate an answer, "Rhys, I..." Your eyes darted around, slowly adjusting to the darkness. You could make out the shape of his face, the gentle twitch of his features as he attempted to remedy his words.

"Okay, I'm... afraid to say what I really want to say," He confessed, and you felt a frown form on your lips, set deep. "Because I'm afraid of what you'll say. Because I'm afraid I'm being an idiot."

"You're not an idiot." That, you knew for sure. "You never were, and you never will be." Not to me.

"We haven't known each other for that long, but... it shouldn't change how I feel." He was quick to clarify before questions could be thrown, "When I'm around you, I'm... safe. Protected. That's the only reason I could have been so bold. Like I was untouchable. I've... always wanted to feel that way."

Silence took you. You hadn't expected such an admission to come out of him so willingly. It felt... genuine. It was unlike any dramatic declarations you'd received, and it hadn't required anything past hand-holds and curious glances.

"If I'm very, very wrong about this whole thing... I hope you can forgive me. If it's too much, too soon. I just wanted you to know, because you're someone I trusted so quickly. Around here, that's... pretty impossible. Or so I thought."

"Slow down for a minute..." You stopped him, trying hard not to burst from the feeling in your chest. "You don't have to skirt around it. Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

Rhys became quiet, but only for a moment. "I don't really trust myself with this kind of feeling." He admitted, "I... set an alarm for midnight, because you said to 'save it for tomorrow."

You eyed him, curious. "... oh?"

"I really wanted to just... kiss you. Right then. I wished that, when I woke up, I wouldn't be me. That I would be... yours." He sighed, inwardly berating himself from what you could tell, ears reddened under the cover of shadows. "I really, really like you. Like, a lot. I don't want to mess up this chance, while I still have one." A light, hesitant laugh left him. "Do... I have one?"

You released the unsteady breath you hadn't known you were holding in. His other hand found its way to yours, both holding you now as though he knew they were all that was keeping you tied to reality. Your mind turned to Stacey. Killer queen, with all the eyes in the world for a monster over the man she'd supposedly pledged herself to. You didn't want history to repeat itself. "... Did you break up with her?"

"Not... officially... I mean, it was kind of unclear, but, I think she already got the memo on that."

"Rhys," A laugh escaped through your nose.

"... Yes?"

"When we first met, honestly, I never stopped thinking about it. I... dreamt about seeing you again. I wondered what kind of person you really were, and then somehow you reappeared." You hummed, gently, and squeezed the hand that held yours. "The thing is... I already promised I'd go on a date with someone, so I'm not sure what's correct to say."

"I should have guessed," He mused, sounding slightly peeved.

You responded sternly, chest tight. "You never could've guessed that. I'm not really the most popular person, this is a pretty uncommon situation for me to be in as a whole." Which was... partly true.

You hesitated, and he noticed. "You don't seem very sure of that," Lips pursed, calling your unintended bluff. Ugh. Why couldn't you just kiss him and let it be over with?

"Did you have a lot of guys after you back home, or something?"

"In a way." You murmured. "But, girls, too."

"And girls." He remedied.

You retracted from him, leaving him in a pout. "You seem weirdly caught up on that part, or is it just me?"

"No-it's not that I'm... 'caught up;' I guess, it's just nice knowing that you're someone who's not afraid to... admit what they like?" Your eyebrows furrowed, and he mimicked punching himself repeatedly in the face, much to your amusement. "What I'm trying to say is, it took me a long time to come to terms with that, myself."

"Come to terms with what? You don't have to censor yourself with me."

He rubbed the back of his neck, electing to climb up on the bed when he realized his knees had started to hurt. You had no objection. He sat himself at your side, merely inches away, hugging his legs, and so you felt strangely vulnerable. Though, probably just about as vulnerable as he did. "I'm bisexual."

This seemed to explain a lot and at the same time not much at all. You viewed him in a new light, but nothing apart from distinct appreciation. His head fell forward, chin on his knees, though his eyes never left you, likely searching for any sort of microexpression that would give away how you felt about his words.

"Back home, I had a lot of... expectations on my shoulders. When I came out to my parents, they didn't really... take it as I'd hoped."

"Rhys... I'm so sorry."

He offered his solemn smile again, and this time you really noticed. It struck a chord. "There's nothing to be sorry about. I promise." After a moment of silence he prodded your outer shell. Although you had presented yourself to be guarded, it honestly didn't take much for him to break through. Even with such a gentle approach, one hand at your arm in his attempt to soothe.

"...what about your parents? Did they know?"

In his presence you shrugged off your protective layer with miraculous ease. "My mom knew; she actively encouraged it, actually. Remember?"

"You told me, but... 'encouraged it'... how?"

"Well..." You huffed, "She was big on taking me to parties, like I said before; introducing me to stupid, 'pureblooded' socialites my age and trying to force me to make connections."

Your head fell back against the headboard as you looked to Rhys and puffed out a breath of incredulity. In all of your imaginings, you never expected you'd be telling him about this in such depth-you never expected that he would actually seem to care so much. It was refreshing, and only caused you to admire him more. "A lot of them were stuck in the same situation as me, though, so, a lot of the time we played along just to feel a bit of freedom amongst ourselves. It was a whole act for our parents, but also how we made friends. Like putting on a performance. Less pressure than completely dissenting."

Rhys examined you, eyebrows raised as he took you in. "But not... friends-friends, I'm guessing."

"I knew it was never a healthy arrangement, my mom acted like each would be my endgame. I was never given the opportunity to just... get to know them for real. It always escalated quickly under superficial circumstances, and they always left."

"Oh," He hummed in acknowledgment, "So..."

"Yeah." You sighed in turn, a sour taste in your mouth. "I wasn't really... taught what a relationship should be like, so by the time I'd figured out how I seemed to feel about a person, I was already under their covers. Then I was alone."

"I should be saying sorry to you," Rhys blanched, "That shit... sucks. That really sucks. You don't deserve that."

"I know that now." You smiled, and he caught his breath. "It's part of why I left Aquator, anyway. It was my turn."

Rhys pondered on this, turning his thoughts over a few times before addressing them. "And this 'someone' you already promised-are they like 'them?"'

To be honest, you hadn't really considered that thought.

Timothy was... sweet. Unassuming of your background apart from what his job had privileged him to know. He had a bright personality underneath the mask he was forced to wear, and gave you a clearly warm feeling in your gut. Though, that mask had also forced him to turn away from you in the ever-watching eyes of Handsome Jack, someone you'd really wanted to just forget about.

Looks were very deceiving. Although they had the same face, they were two distinctly different people, with different thoughts and different feelings. One of them could kill you for insubordination over the smallest mistake, and the other... could be made to kill you for insubordination. You would be dumb to ignore that.

It still didn't stop you from flirting with danger; Timothy himself clearly hadn't expected what he'd signed up for, and you would probably defend that notion until the end. To you he should have been just a guy, just a guy who seemed to really like you, who wanted to get to know you. He was just a guy with very, very lethal strings attached and looks that could literally kill you. Honestly, probably worse than the lovers who'd wounded you emotionally. In this case, physically would obviously be more permanent.

"I don't know..." You answered honestly.

He seemed surprised, steadily releasing himself from his insecurities. His body language righted itself as he relaxed, letting go of his legs to present a more open appearance. "I'll be honest, I expected you to push back."

"I've gotten myself into a really complicated position, as you can already tell." You moped, words turning to whispers. "He's Jack's body double. A total twin, uh, minus the psychological aspect."

Rhys froze. "Wait..."

You froze too, regarding him carefully. His tone took you off-guard and raised some red flags, sending an unwanted chill throughout your body. "Rhys...what is it?"

"Jack has a body double?!"

"Oh, dear lord." You scoffed, grumbling, "Don't get hung up on that part. You're missing my point."

He just laughed at your misery, "No way, this is a really important development! And-besides," Cheeky. "I just wanted to lighten the mood a little bit."

"Rhys," You groaned.

He visibly cringed at your tone, inwardly admonishing himself. "Okay, sorry-sorry,"

"So anyway," You snarled and rolled your eyes, quickly reclaiming paranoia. "I just realized how much I've screwed myself over." You ran your fingers through your hair and gripped tight, "I'm probably going to die just because I want to date; you realize that, right? Goddammit."

So dramatic.

Rhys wasn't being very helpful, but tried his best. Per usual. "Just... tell him you changed your mind, or something?"

"He's too nice of a person for me to do that to him... I should still give him a chance, right?" Your eyes darted to Rhys again, "Or-god, I don't know at this point."

"Okay, then, listen here. How about you go on the date with him, and then see how you feel?"

"Rhys, are you giving me love advice right now?"

He mimicked you subconsciously, raking his hands through his hair and giving a strangled laugh. "I... just realized I'm giving you love advice right now, why am I doing that? On second thought, 'don't date him, date me!"'

"Well, hold on a second..." You paused to give it some thought, "I'm technically still single, right?"

"I... think that's how it works, yeah."

"And you're single now... right?"

"Wait, are you suggesti-what? Oh,"

You straightened yourself, body leaning over to address him directly. "So," It was fairly comical; the way you suddenly approached him had him sprawling, attempting to find purchase on what sane territory he could still find. In truth, there wasn't much left. "...You could totally still kiss me, if you wanted to, right? And I could kiss you,"

"Oh, wow. I-uh, wow. I... was not expecting that."

You settled yourself down on your plush comforter, facing him in the dark. "...Is this a bad idea?"

"Actually, it... feels like a pretty good one," Rhys stopped his squirming to search your face. "But, maybe I'm still buzzed? That would also do it."

You shook your head, quick to throw that notion away. "Nah, it would have worn off by now. You're absolutely sober."

He scoffed, playful, "Excuse me, are you a human breathalyzer?"

You eyed him. "...And what if I am?"

"Then I guess it must be true." Rhys smiled gently and you felt your heart begin its retreat into your throat as he moved a bit closer.

A laugh erupted out of him, cut off as you cupped his face in your hands.

"Wait." He stopped you, "Do you trust... me?"

"I do," You'd already made up your mind; it was actually a little baffling to you how quickly your conviction appeared. Rare. "A lot, actually."

You blinked, unable to finish your thoughts as he took you by surprise, closing the distance. Your eyes widened as he took you into his arms, and you began to wonder how anyone could have traded this for anything.

"This is, uh... nice."

"I... figured you might need this a little more."

"Well, I'll be the judge of that, won't I?" You grinned, forehead flush to the underside of his chin. Indecision overtook you almost immediately as you pulled yourself away, still wanting to revel in the security his hold had brought you.

Irregardless, Rhys silently bent forward to meet your mouth with his and that feeling instantly all but melted away.

Kissing him was... way better. That was to be your ultimate conclusion.

Between the warm, all-encompassing feeling of his arms around you and the spark that set every nerve ablaze? When his lips touched yours, it was no contest.

Both at once? World-shattering. Mind-blowing. Next level.

You couldn't recall much, only a clouded sensation of events. Pressing him back against the headboard, hands in his hair. His hands falling to your sides, grasping as though for dear life. The amount of emotion he was capable of putting behind such minimal actions dazzled you.

Chaste, yet harboring unfettered passion. Raw morphine, injected with an additive of infinite adoration and belonging. Your new gateway drug.

When you finally pulled yourself away, you gazed drunkenly, under his spell.

"Oh... wow." You murmured dumbly, capturing his face between your hands again as you earnestly admired him. Your thumbs swiped at his skin, further confirming his tangibility to your fragile mind.

He smiled surprisingly calmly, charming you just by existing. Voice hushed, "That's what I was going to say."

You tried resisting the urge, visibly struggling. Another hit would be your end. You would be hooked, and your heart would be his forever.

"If I kiss you again, what's going to happen?"

"What was inevitable," He whispered, "I'm never going to get you out of my head."

A frown marred your features. "...I don't want you to leave."

His expression fell. "No. I won't. I promise, I won't."

"You make a lot of promises, Strongfork," You smiled slyly, "What if I mean... ever?"

"Oh, well then, I mean-"

"Kidding." You snickered, "It is tempting though. I wonder what else I have that would fit you, hm?" You squeezed Rhys' leg and he squeaked, face turning full tomato immediately after.

"Delete that." He spat, "Erase that soundbyte from your memory. Please. I can't go on if it means that's what you'll remember."

"I'm keeping them all," You sang, and he sighed in defeat, his head falling forward to meet your shoulder.

* * *

_'You lose your way, just take my hand;_

_You're lost at sea, then I'll command your boat to me again_

_Don't look too far, right where you are, that's where I am;'_

How many times had you planned on hitting snooze?

By the 5th time, you'd finally gained enough encouragement to pull yourself upright, greeting the stale air of your apartment with a tired countenance.

You got to your feet and immediately paused, attempting to stave off any remaining dizziness which overrode your ability to stand still... before stolidly climbing back into bed again.

_'I'm your man_

_I'm your man'_

"You okay there, _?"

Muffled between sheets, you sought Rhys' voice, limbs weak. You were not a morning person. Crawling forward, you buried your face into the warmth that gathered at the crook of his neck and the pillow beneath. He cooed, the vibration of his throat tickling your ear.

You felt him place a gentle kiss to the back of your head, murmuring into your hair. "Will you... get out of bed if I offer to buy you a coffee... again?"

"Mm," You muttered, turning in his arms to face him. "Tempting. But what do you get out of that?"

"...More time with you?"

"We have all the time in the world here," You argued lamely. All it did was make him laugh, which... you didn't dislike. "I don't wanna get up."

"Okay, so yeah I just want an excuse to go out with you somewhere," He admitted with a frown, "before we have to go back to work, and me-back to pretending I don't absolutely adore the hell out of you."

"Rhys," You breathed, "I told you last night; it's just safer that way." Closing your eyes, it had suddenly become hard to imagine yourself alone when the next morning would come. "I don't know the policy on relationships when it comes to my job. I mean, what if Jack found out I let someone in here who doesn't have a thing to do with it?"

Nothing could stop him from being glib, "I would... die pretty awesomely?"

Despite your opposition, his smile was contagious. "I would die, too. Not awesomely."

"Oh," He chuckled, eyes darting away. "...Right."

You felt a lump form in your throat. "Jack, he's... he's not really what people say he is." You swallowed, to no effect. "He's not even what he himself claims to be. He's killed a lot of people on the whole 'bandit' crusade that's happening right now. The crusade he started. So many innocent people who really have nothing to do with it. Plus-"

No... you couldn't tell him about Angel, right? It would only put him in jeopardy more than what was already probable.

"-no," You sighed. "I just need you to trust me on this, please." Gently you grabbed the skin of his cheek between your thumb and forefinger, wiggling it with a stern yet vaguely playful demeanor. "Don't seek that kind of attention. You're worth more."

"I won't..."

For a guy who usually seemed to get his way, Rhys was a terrible liar. You smacked him on his tattooed arm, "At least try to sound convincing? Jeez." Apologetically you rubbed the affected area, watching him quietly huff and pull you closer (if was humanly possible) with a look akin to frustration. Eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed as he pressed your foreheads together.

"...Please?" Puppy-dog eyes put into play.

"Ugh." You groaned, caving easily. "Just... fine."

He smirked, no doubt doing a victory lap in his head. "A-ha," He pressed a quick kiss to your lips before springing up with previously-unseen energy. You witnessed him galavanting across the room to retrieve the clothes he'd worn yesterday.

"You're just lucky you're cute," You called after him. "and that I have an extra toothbrush in the cabinet."

"Noted." He grinned, nearly slamming the bathroom door shut. You cringed at the sound it made, mentally scolding him.

It took a moment to gather yourself, sitting upright as you just had some odd minutes before. This time standing was much easier; you guessed that Rhys had provided a dose of energy to your brain that otherwise wouldn't have shown itself until caffeine entered your system.

You dressed and freshened up, remembering to visit the living room before you left. You'd popped the lucky cat into your coat pocket, monitoring its continued existence there every now and again, your fingers feeling for its shape through the fabric. Maybe you'd catch Timothy while you were out... after all, he clearly needed it more than you did.

Fresh socks were a blessing. Fresh shoes? Even more so. You'd have to worry about your poor beer-soaked ones later when you had the time. Right now your mind was occupied with the sound of your footsteps against the hallway flooring, soft panic underlying the earnest excitement you felt to be out of your room.

Your heart jumped into your throat when Rhys latched onto you, his hand melding into yours with calculated ease. You casted him a worried glance to which he smiled away, only tightening his grip through lacing your fingers together. It was mild to say you felt nervous. Vulnerable was probably a better adjective, describing the feeling of gentle dread that washed over you as soon as you were met with the company elevator.

Rhys called it up, depressing the designated button with his left thumb and proceeding to lightly bounce on his feet in subconcious impatience.

When he looked at you, clothing slightly ajar and his hair generally as unruly as ever, you immediately swallowed your reservations. In his shamelessness he was undeniably dashing. Everything about him magnetized you, kept you balanced between struggle and ease.

"Don't be so anxious," He cooed, clearly amused by your behavior which denoted inexperience. "This is... totally normal around here."

"Normal," You heaved, "...Right."

He squeezed your hand as the elevator dinged, signalling its arrival. Your fingers hurt.

When the door opened, though, you just about died right there. You snatched your hand away from Rhys, instead clasping your fingers together behind your back and placing a plastic, obedient grin on your features.

Handsome Jack stood in the lift between two helmeted Hyperion guards, quizzically regarding you. "Oh, hey," he remarked, "...'Junkmail.' Haven't seen you in a bit, we should catch up. Whatcha been doin'?" Your lip twitched aggressively at the nickname, though much to your surprise you managed to remain quiet in the face of danger.

His eyes darted from you to the tall, gawky man beside you as he exited the elevator with silent entourage in tow. "...him? Really?" He looked Rhys up and down, expressing a snort of laughter when the latter stuttered out his best attempt at a greeting.

Rhys was shell-shocked, staring wide- and starry-eyed at the man before him. "Wh-hi-you're-Handsome Jack-wow, I-"

"Uh, save it, kid, I'm a little busy here," Jack spat with eyebrows furrowed and turned his attention back to you, though Rhys seemed nonetheless clueless to the rudeness and active repellant of said gesture. "I need you to get on those emails ASAP. A lot of shit's been going down on Pandora and I need morale to be high, got me?"

"I got you," You responded emotionlessly, eyes struggling to remain on him. It was hard enough to stare the man in the face let alone give him the eye contact he directly demanded. He was as handsome as he was cruel. You couldn't will yourself to remain lucid if it meant falling for the ruse of power he put on.

He disdainfully regarded Rhys again, much to the taller of the two's distinct delight... and your utter dismay. "And lose the-whatever this guy is supposed to be. I need you 100% if you're going to be handling my... stuff."

Your heart dropped, falling broken on the floor in front of him. "Yes... sir."

At your expression, Jack seemed to radiate with about as much energy as you'd lost, as though sucking your happiness away had earned him the difference. "Good on ya," He grinned, "Oh, and if you happen to see my body double somewhere around here... I need him for briefing. Toodles!"

The way he swaggered away after speaking into existence the one fear that had made you want to stay inside... it angered you to no end.

When he was unquestionably gone and out of earshot, you deeply exhaled until your lungs had rid themselves of the atmosphere he'd created, then kneeled to collect what little there was left of your resolve.

Rhys ran a hand through his hair, face blank, his body turned in the direction that Jack had went. Lost in his thoughts, he stood watching instead of kneeling to help you.

You breathed in, avoiding the subject entirely as you got to your feet again. "Hey," You spoke weakly, "...Let's just go."


End file.
